Pound Sand

imposter syndrome

With Swallow Bank above me and the Haystack Mountains poking out in the distance, I sit perched on a boulder overlooking the North Platte River. This is the Miracle Mile. One of the most fabled tailwaters in North America. Technically, it’s spring, but it doesn’t feel like it. The temperature last night plummeted below freezing and I woke up to sleeting rain pelting me as I rolled out of the truck bed.

From my vantage point on this boulder, the swallows fly in and out of their homes above me with food for their young. A pair of bald eagles is working on their nest. And, the river in front of me looks incredibly fishy. Across the water, my home on wheels is parked. Covered in frozen mud from tailgate to headlights. As I take in the moment, my fingers run through the overgrown scruff on my face. I smell the sweet scent of the trout I just caught. A delicious aroma all anglers know well.

I’m here with intention. I’ll be starting a new chapter soon, one initiated by a new job, but one that signifies so much more than just an addition to my resume. This trip to the North Platte is much more than just a fishing trip. It’s an opportunity to do some soul-searching. To set my priorities for this next chapter. And to decompress as I move on to something new.

trout spey!

Intention is a core principle for me. When I have moments to re-prioritize and consider the bigger picture, I jump into it with eagerness. New year’s resolutions never really motivated me, but a new job, a new home, or a new lesson learned. These are all things that inspire me to dig deep.

During my meditation, I was assaulted by the speed of life. I feel like it was just yesterday that I started at TU, and here I am moving on. Two years gone in a flash. Yes, the good things always go too quickly, but I wish I had taken more time to appreciate them at the moment. I guess now is that time. I’m proud of what I accomplished.

Despite my pride, the imposter syndrome I’ve been fighting all my life seeps in and tries to poison my thoughts. Am I actually good enough for what’s ahead? I do my best to fight it off, but all that replaces it is more nerves. These nerves are fueled by a fierce desire to succeed. To win. To work hard. To prove my worth. All of which I know I am more than capable of.

I’ve got a history with the North Platte, making it the perfect place for reflection. The first time I ever stepped into this river, I was a freshman in college. I had just met my friend Anthony, who would turn out to be one of my lifelong best buds. In early February, we piled into his old 4Runner and drove up for a weekend of camping and fishing. I was cold to say the least, but also mesmerized by the remoteness. It was my first time in Wyoming, and I was hooked.

The following years after that, when Anthony and I started running the show at the CU Boulder fly fishing club, we took an annual club trip to the area. They were beyond memorable experiences with 50+ college kids piling into a rental house for a weekend of fishing and general college debauchery. I’m proud to say that no one ever got hurt and we never broke anything… minus a few fly rods.

These trips, the people that went on them, and the memories they created have etched this river into my blood. I yearn for the North Platte in the years I cannot go, and when I’m there, it feels like a magnificent release of emotions. Now, standing in the same river with intention at the forefront of my mind, things feel remarkably different. I’m solo, but not alone.

cloudy with a chance of trout

During this trip, the weather was looking hot and sunny for the first two days. Not ideal for the kind of fishing I enjoy — throwing streamers. Streamers are flies that imitate small baitfish, and the trout love to eat them when the weather is nasty. Thankfully, by the second night, there were clouds on the horizon. As I crawled into my truck for the evening, I did my best to manifest some snotty weather, and boy did I succeed.

I woke up to the pitter-patter of rain on the truck topper and instantly smiled. Like a kid on Christmas morning, I rolled out of bed. A cold breakfast of granola, and I was ready to get fishing.

The first three hours were miserable. My hands were frozen, and the fish weren’t hungry. I drug myself back to the truck to warm up. After all my effort that morning, I deserved a treat, so I broke out the fish whistle for a few moments.

Feeling motivated, I tied on a new fly and got back to work. I had been camped at this place I named Swallow Bank for the past few nights and despite fishing it profusely, had failed to get a bite. So, I tried something new. I waded across the river and climbed up high on the hillside for a better vantage point. Sure enough, I saw a nice deep hole behind a rock. From my original point of view, it didn’t look like much, but from this side of the river, it was clear that the fish lived there.

I scrambled back down to the river and started my cast just above the rock. When the fly made it past the white water, it stopped. I sighed. Sadly, I had hung up on the bottom. I pulled against it from a few different angles, unable to get it off.

Then, the rock started swimming away. Shit! This was no rock. As the fish started to run, I let out a hysteric laugh. Of course, after all my meticulous effort, this is how I hook a fish…

After the laugh, I collected myself and realized that this was actually a pretty big fish. The fight was enthralling with lots of acrobatics from me and the fish, a few curse words on my end (and maybe some from the fish?) and finally, a successful net job.

When the fish hit the net I was elated. With no one in sight, I let out a yelp of pure joy.

Pure satisfaction. I was proud. Proud of the work I had put in to catch that fish. Proud of taking the trip between jobs. And proud of setting the intention for this experience.

After a clean release I climbed on top of that boulder and took in the environment around me. The fish had disappeared into the depths of that hole. The river permanently etched into who I am. Swallow Bank towering above me.

All of it felt so perfectly placed. I thought about going home right then. That thought quickly passed. I took a deep breath and made my way back to the river. To keep pressing on. And to keep telling that imposter syndrome to pound sand.

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